


Hear your voice

by Xenay



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Actually forget the ex-popstar sherlock tag because he is still one at the end, Alternate Universe, Angst, Antibiotics suck, Donovan has a crush on Sherlock, Drama, Drama with a Happy Ending, Ex-Popstar Sherlock, Gen, I promise, John is 35, John is suicidal at the beginning, Laryngitis sucks, Lestrade is amazing, Lestrade used to be Sherlocks bodyguard, Lots of Music, Medical, Mycroft is a bad brother, Mycroft was Sherlocks manager, Sherlock Gets Drunk, Sherlock Plays the Violin, Sherlock can't talk at the beginning, Sherlock has asthma, Sherlock is 21, Sherlock is a Mess, Sherlock is mute, Sherlock still solves cases, Sherlock used to be a singer, Swearing, This is not a romance, Warning for suicidal thoughts at the beginning, antibiotics are horrible, britains got talent, i own nothing, kind of, lots of feels, mentions of overdose, psychosomatic problems, sherlock is depressed, vip lives really suck, where did all this drama come from?!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2020-08-20 03:37:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20221165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenay/pseuds/Xenay
Summary: NEW CHAPTER!John Watson was about to end his life, until he met the strangest guy.He never talks, doesn’t even laugh. He plays the violin in ways that words can’t describe - or maybe that’s exactly what it does.He can solve crimes in a matter of minutes. He seems to have known this DI bloke for years.And why does John always feel watched, ever since they met?Cover Art: https://www.deviantart.com/xxenayx/art/Hear-your-voice-Sherlock-fanfic-cover-810024110





	1. Bring me to life

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING FOR JOHN BEING SUICIDAL AT THE BEGINNING AND MENTIONS OF OVERDOSE
> 
> I suddenly had this story idea as I was listening to 'bring me to life' for hours, just wanting to sing along but having not said a single word in two days because of laryngitis. I have him use the app that I use, which is called "Text to Speech" for iPhone (I can't say if it's on any other services too). The funny thing (sarcasm) is that I have major surgery on my jaws in 9 days and this will not be resolved until then. Whelp, onto the first chapter. I apologize in advance for possible typos or grammatical mistakes.

Chapter one: Bring me to life

John Watson was an invalided army doctor. He was through with life. His entire family is dead. Has been for years.

He had wanted to help others. And in the end it always just brought him more pain. So what was the point?

He limped into the hospital to pick up his prescription. They would be his final way to go. He had it all planned out already: take one last stroll through the streets, and when he got home, he would take the whole package and sleep forever.

“John H. Watson.” He told the woman at the reception and handed over his card.

As he waited for her to find his file on the computer, his eyes wandered to his right, finding a pale bloke with dark curls staring right at him, until he realized he had been found out and averted his gaze.

He looked so sad. Maybe someone of his family was inpatient here?

He was startled back to reality when the lady handed him the piece of paper, that listed his one-way-ticket to hell. “The doctor would like to speak with you in a bit, so if you could take a seat to the side.” She said and pointed to the sad guy.

John nodded and made his way over to the empty seats next to the lonely bloke, who was eyeing his walking cane. John took the second seat next to him, so that they had one free in between them, and put his cane between his legs, leaning it against the wooden seat as he put away the paper into his coat pocket.

He then sat up straight and cleared his throat, gave the guy next to him another glance. “Family?” He finally asked him.

The guy shook his head.

John thought for a moment. “Got a diagnosis you don’t like, huh?”

The guy looked away.

“Hey, it’s alright. I don’t fancy mine either.” John joked, but the man was having none of it.

Mood killer.

“My name is John. You wanna tell me yours?” He felt like he was talking to a child.

The guy suddenly rummaged through his jeans pocket and handed John a card. ‘I’m Sherlock Holmes and I don’t talk to anyone’ it read in fancy hand writing. What a weird name. He handed it back over. “Well nice to meet ya, Sherlock.”

Sherlock gave him a glance and weak smile.

The door a bit down the hallway opened and a police officer looking man came out and towards them. “Alright Sherlock. We can go now.” The guy told him, he looked a bit distraught. Probably bad news, John figured.

Sherlock stoop up and unfolded the long coat he had kept folded on his lap, and put it on, the coat collar standing a bit off with the thick scarf around his neck. He then turned to John and gave him a curt nod of his head, then he headed out.

The police guy turned to John. “He likes you.” He said, shocked.

John just shrugged and raised an eyebrow. The guy got out his wallet and handed him a card with Sherlocks name, phone number and address. John frowned at it, then noticed that the guy was going after Sherlock. “Hey! Wait! I only just met him!” He yelled after him as he made to go after them, dropping the cane to the floor as he stood up.

“Exactly! He has never been like this with anyone before!” The guy yelled, then disappeared out the door.

John looked around, searching for a hidden camera, sure that this was a weird joke.

“Doctor Watson?” His doctor said from his right. Apparently they had been to the same doctor here. He turned to his doc, who welcomed him with a smile and an outstretched hand.

John turned his head to the left again, but the front doors stayed close and empty.

His doctor had told him that he was making progress, finding a new friend. John had tried to deny it the best he could, but failed miserably.

He was now walking aimlessly around London. For some reason he felt watched wherever he went. He had turned around about a hundred times now, never seeing a soul, but still the feeling never stopped.

In his paranoia, he had completely forgotten about his prescription, and so he sat in his tiny flat, staring at the gun he had kept, laying still on the table, just waiting for hi-

His mobile phone rang.

He hadn’t gotten a call in ages. When he fished it out from his back pocket and looked at the screen, he found the number was blocked.

John wasn’t a person to accept every call he got, especially now that he wasn’t asking for one. The call rang out, and silence filled the flat for about two seconds before he had gotten a text message.

The number was blocked, again, and it said “Don’t even think about it.”

Weirded out completely, he turned his phone off and decided to just call it a day.

It wouldn’t really matter if he stayed a day longer or not. And if whoever was indeed stalking him came to his flat and killed him at night, then that was fine, too.

The next day he was on his way to the pharmacy, when someone called his name from behind. “Watson! John Watson!”

He turned around to find his old university friend Mike Stamfort running towards him. “Mike?”

“Yeah it’s me. I’ve gotten fat I know.”

“No, no-“

“I heard ya got shot.”

“...yes.”

And that was the conversation. They walked in silence for a bit until they reached a park bench.

John let himself drop down on it, flinching at his leg and rubbing the hand, that wasn’t holding onto the cane, back and forth on the twinging muscles.

Mike decided that now was a good time to bring it up. “So where have you been staying? Heard you’ve been out of the hospital for two months now.”

Two months of going from one therapy to the next, from physio-therapy to psychological, from pain meds to antidepressants. Two months of utter hell. “A small flat outside of London. Invalids can’t have luxury.” He stated coldly.

Mike gave him a sympathetic eye. “How about a flatmate?”

John gave a short, ironic laugh. “Come on, who’d want me for a flatmate?”

Mike laughed at this, genuinely.

“What?” John inquired.

“You’re the second person to say that to me today. Well, I say ‘said’...”

John frowned. “So who’s the first?”

Mike was taking him to St Barts.

On their way there, he showed him a google search result of what looks to be a musician; a vocalist to be exact. And if he was being honest, the young bloke looked kind of familiar...

“Ever heard of William Scott?” Mike asked him. John thought about it, but the name didn’t sound familiar. “Well I guess you wouldn’t. He became popular about a week after you left. Been at the top charts for all of those five years now, but something happened.”

John frowned. “What did?”

Mike shrugged his shoulders. “Nobody really knows. The media is having a field day to this day about the super star suddenly refusing to even talk.”

John’s eyes widened. “Talk? He- wait.. that’s impossible. A stupid coincidence.”

Mike raised an eyebrow at him. “What Are you talking about?”

“Yesterday. When I was at the clinic to get my meds. There was his guy, he gave me this card that said “I’m Sherlock and I never talk”, or something like that.” Mike got a smirk on his face that went undetected by John, who was pulling out a card out of his pocket. “Here, I still have the card that his friend gave me.” He said and handed it to his friend.

Mike pretended to be interested in it. “Well, guess the universe has spoken, or what people say.” He chuckled and handed it back over, and the cab came to a stop.

They took the elevator to the lab story of the building. “Should we even be in here?” John asked Mike, who just casually walked down the corridor like he owned the place.

He opened a door to their left and held it open for John to follow him into the room.

John looked around the room, seeing a lot of new technology that he wished he had had in his five years in Afghanistan.

Mike was already watching Sherlock, who was eyeing John before writing something down on a piece of paper next to his microscope.

John finally took notice of Sherlock and watched as he handed the paper to Mike, a finger pointing to the very end of the fully written page.

Mike pretended to check his pockets before saying “sorry, I must have left it in my other jacket.” He then pointed to John. “John, could you give him your phone for a moment? He has to text someone and his phone battery has died.”

John frowned for a moment as he thought about how Stamfort didn’t have a second jacket on when they came here, and had just shown him pictures of the very man who is taking John’s phone into his hands right now.

Sherlock was a very fast texter. After sending the missing piece of information to Lestrade, he looked at John, then opened a new chat with his own number, and wrote ‘meet me at 221B Baker Street in an hour -SH’, then handed the phone back to his owner and left without so much as a wave of a hand.

John looked dumbfounded at Mike and the now closed door.

“Yeah, he’s always like that.”

John frowned at the message on his phone again. Well, might as well do something useful in that hour.

As soon as John was at home, he opened his laptop and did his own research.

First he googled ‘William Scott’. He found the pictures he had seen before, and scrolled down a bit. Articles showed up about the ‘teen wonder’ and ‘new album coming out’, to ‘album got cancelled’, ‘a star has fallen’ and, what he found most intriguing, ‘another star lost in the high?’. He clicked on that one, and a reporter page opened with a header picture of what was without doubt a syringe filled with some sort of recreational drugs. Under it was the headline ‘William Scott, from rising star to drug addict’.

He began to read. ‘After his newest album got publicly cancelled, rumors had started about the soloist taking drugs. Fans had taken footages of when they had found the teen-star inside a club bathroom, overdosed on cocaine.’

John cringed at the thought. ‘It is believed that the loss of his voice was the result of the overdose-‘ he had lost his voice? A singer, who lost his voice. If that wasn’t a sad story...

He clicked on the ‘back’ arrow and clicked on ‘videos’. He found a bunch of him on a show called Britains Got Talent, which he had gotten a ‘golden buzzer’ for and won, according to the video titles. He clicked on the video, titled ‘16 year old William Scott proves David wrongGOLDEN BUZZER audition’ and turned up the laptop volume.

Just when he walked on the stage, the audience went wild with applause and whistling, and John could tell the similarities of this youngster and the guy he met. They definitely looked like the same person in body shape and face, although he had had longer hair then, which were tied up in a very fancy way, that John couldn’t even begin to understand how it was done.

(I am using this audition to give you a visual of how his voice sounded, just minus the backstage and ‘I’m nervous’ part:<https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=PN5mkRRZeu8> )

He was awfully confident and sarcastic, and the people and judges seemed to love it. (Especially the female judges seemed to take a liking to him.) John learned that he had auditioned before, and that he had been told to get a singing teacher.

And then he began to sing. Lord, he sang like an angel.

He felt actually touched by the way his clear voice danced through his ears.

He was singing ‘Hallelujah’, which John thought was just the weirdest coincidence ever.

The screaming of the huge audience just got louder and louder as the song progressed, and John could understand the whole ‘teenage super star’-titles now. A 16 year old skinny lad with such a voice, it would be a messed up world if he hadn’t become so popular.

Then the song was over. The entire hall became one big standing ovation.

The judge on the right side of the table was talking. ‘When someone grinds you down and says ‘you’re not good enough’, You come back. And you come back and you look them in the eye and go ‘I am good enough’.

Then this other judge yelled ‘I thought it was really good!’ And hit the golden buzzer.

And John suddenly felt as though this speech of confidence had been directed at him. He suddenly felt hopeful, and strong and dare he say even Proud.

And he wondered where it all went so horribly wrong for this boy to -apparently- change his name and overdose on drugs.

He clicked on a video of a concert, titled 'William Scott LOST HIS VOICE - HIS LAST CONCERT', briefly wondered why people have to write everything in capital letters, and firstly turned down the volume because of the screeching fans. Alone his talking voice sounded scratchy as he asked the crowd through his mic 'ARE YOU READY!!', which elected further screams from girls who probably dreamed of having a relationship with him.

John recognized the song from somewhere, probably must have heard it on the radio before. Apparently Sherlock had sung covers of other songs. He got through over half of the song pretty fine so far, long notes and all.

'Wake me up inside! Wake me up inside! Call my name and save me from the dark!

Bid my blood to run! Before I come undone! Save me from the nothing I've become! Bring_ me_ to_ life~!

Bring_ me_ to_ li~-' and that is when his voice broke off, he held the mic away from his face as he was doubled over in a coughing fit. Part of the fans were screaming in horror, others just kept waving their arms as the band kept on playing, and two guys from the backstage staff were handing him water and taking his microphone. The video then stopped abruptly.

John ran a hand through his hair.

There had to be a reason, other than drugs, for him to lose his voice like that.

There just had to be.

He arrived a bit earlier at 221B and rang the doorbell. An elder lady opened the door, welcoming him without asking who he was or what he wanted.

"Sherlock is upstairs, I don't think he heard you. He always gets so absorbed in his music, you know. Ah it's so nice that you're here now. It will do him good to be more 'sozial'." She said, making quotation symbols with her fingers.

John stuttered. "What do you mean? I have only just met him yesterday. I don't even know him." He decided that even with knowing what was on the internet on him, he still didn't know this person.

"Oh don't worry about it. He probably already knows everything about you. You'll just have to find out about him yourself." She said with a grin.

"Wha- what do you mean 'he knows everything about me'?!" John demanded.

Somewhere from behind the door on the entrance level came a 'ding!' and the woman grinned. "Oh! The biscuits are done! Apple marmalade fillings, your favorite." She said and hurried into presumably her flat.

John just raised an eyebrow. That Was his favorite kind. What in the-

He heard music, coming from above the 17 steps before him. That would be Sherlock's flat, then.

Shooting a glare at his walking stick, he climbed up the stairs.

When he was at the top, he listened at the door. It was without doubt the song he had heard earlier, the one where he had lost his voice, but it was from the original writer, and in a version he hadn't heard before. And what was even weirder: he could hear an instrument - a violin or something alike - playing along with the lyrics in perfect harmony.

( <https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=rSqO2hJ2vvQ> )

John had his right hand leaning on the door handle as he listened. It was as if he was still singing, just through a different sort of music. What was it what people always said? The voice counted as an instrument as well.

His heart clenched at the lyrics. They definitely had a different meaning entirely for Sherlock. Music was his life. 'Bring me to life. Fro~zen inside without your touch, without your love~ darling. Oooh~only you are my life, among the dead~'

He accidentally leaned down on the door handle and opened the door, toppling over in his surprise.

Sherlock stopped playing mid-downbow and stared at the intruder on the floor, before putting the instrument down, picking up his phone and stopping the music on it - very close to the part where John had the memory of Sherlock's voice stopping, but the woman's voice had kept going strong until Sherlock pressed the ‘pause’ button.

Sherlock then started typing noisily on his phone in rapid movements. Suddenly a male sounding, robotic voice filled the room "didn't hear you, sorry. I tend to get a bit lost when it comes to music."

John, who had by then climbed back to his feet, just raised an eyebrow at him.

Sherlock typed again. "Not good?" His phone said in the robotic voice.

John felt like he was in some sort of science fiction movie. Then again, his phone didn't have a touchscreen yet, so the concept of Apps was still new to him.

Sherlock strode over to him and showed him the software on his phone. He typed, and like before, the phone spoke as he was done typing the word he was writing. And with the enabled keyboard clicks, it sounded like: _tiktiktiktik_ this _tiktik_ is _tiktiktik_ how _tik_ I _tiktiktik_ can _tiktiktiktik_ talk.

John was still a bit perplex, but he understood now. He also realized that Sherlock still wore his dark blue scarf.

Sherlock, noticing John staring at his neck, seemed to falter under his gaze. He looked down at his phone, but hesitated, unsure how to explain. How to even start.

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.” John said, and without thinking he added “we can just sit down and eat some of those biscuits in silence. What do you say to that?”

Sherlock gave him a death glare. He typed furiously, the autocorrect saving what could be salvaged from the typos. “Just because I cannot walk doesn’t mean I got nothing to day”, he quickly corrected it and let it play the message again, a bit embarrassed that he can’t even yell at someone. “Just because I cannot talk doesn’t it mean I got nothing to say.”

John had had the right mind not to laugh at the falsely ‘corrected’ words, and just nodded, actually feeling bad for making him upset.

Sherlock typed again. “Not hungry.”

John just nodded.

They decided to sit down on the couch for now, Sherlock already typing again. John waited for two minutes until Sherlock was done writing, having turned off the ‘speak as writing’ function, and pressed the play button. “I know you have questions, so I might as well start explaining before you get weird ideas or believe everything that people spread rumors about. I am not mute, I am not a drug addict, I am not anorexic and I have never used playback, which is probably how I ended up like this. I had gotten laryngitis for over a year now and just ignored it and kept going, until the bitter end. I have permanent damage to my vocal cords now, which no surgery can reverse. I had gotten the news the day we met in the waiting area.”


	2. Doctors orders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of more info in this one. Tags will be added as the story progresses.

Chapter two: Doctors orders

"Weren't you put on vocal rest or something?" John asked after the shock had died down.

Sherlock typed away on his phone again. "Of course I was. Here a week, there a week, and always right back to the world tour. There isn't much you can do as a soloist. Can't sit a round out and let the other band members sing your parts when it's only you singing."

John glared mentally. "Wasn't there a doctor with you? Or a hospital near.... whatever you were staying in?"

Sherlock jerked, and John thought maybe his ears had missed the laugh that he was sure had come from the other lad- but there hadn't been one. Just movement. No sound whatsoever.

John concluded that Sherlock must be so used in not using his voice in any way by now, that his body doesn't even slip up with a laugh anymore.

He typed again. "Have you any idea what it's like when you're popular? I can never leave the house without a second identity."

John didn't comment. "So what are you doing now? I didn't see paparazzi surrounding the house when I came."

Sherlock smirked. "Because they don't know that 'William Scott' lives here. Only Sherlock Holmes and the good old Mrs Hudson."

John figured that that was the name of the woman downstairs. "Who is she, then?"

"My landlady."

The door opened behind then. "Yes, dear. 'Landlady'. Not your housekeeper." She said with a wink, obviously used to the robotic voice from the phone, as she put the biscuits down on the table. "I had them cool down a bit, let you boys talk- oops, sorry dear." She quickly straightened up with a hand over her mouth.

Sherlock waved her off.

Mrs Hudson smiled at him, then at John. "Well I better leave you boys to it then." She said with another wink as she turned to leave.

John looked mortified. "I am not gay!"

She turned back to him. "Oh don't worry, this is all solved around here." And with that she left, John still spluttering.

Sherlock got up and went over to the kitchen to prepare tea.

John didn't know if he should say anything about fancying one himself, or how he likes his tea without sugar, but decided to test this whole 'he knows everything about you' thing.

When the younger lad came back with two steaming cups he got prepared to tell him 'no sugar please', but that was erased when he smelled the non-altered smell of green tea in his cup. He wasn't a fan, but as a doctor he knew the benefits.

Sherlock was not adding any honey into his, John noted as Sherlock drank from his. "Honey would do your throat wonders, you know."

Sherlock gave an annoyed look, set his cup down and grabbed his phone again. "Honey is sugar and sugar just feeds the bacteria." He let his phone say and went back to drinking his tea.

John didn't have a comeback to that.

Their flat door opened a second time, and John recognized the guy from when they met in the hospital. "Hey guys. Sorry to disturb, just came to check if Sherlock took his meds."

Sherlock, even more annoyed now, took a deliberate sip and accidentally triggered a coughing fit when the hot liquid took a wrong turn. He managed to drop a bit of his tea on the floor before he got it set on the table.

"I'm taking that as a no." The guy stated and went into the kitchen to grab a blister pack. He held it out to Sherlock with a stern look. "Three times a day with meals. Why won't it get into your head?" The man scolded the youngster and John figured that they must have went back at least a couple of years.

Sherlock gave the man towering over him a death glare that said 'I don't give a damn'.

"Well too bad. Because unlike Someone, I actually want you to get better." The man snapped and threw the pill pack on the table in front of Sherlock, turning away and running his hands over his face.

John felt awfully sympathetic, and even a bit jealous, because he never had someone care about him like this. He also now realized what the guy had said, and felt his soul clenching at what was implied.

Sherlock was suicidal, or at least self-destructive to not want to get better.

Sherlock seemed a bit ashamed and popped out one of the pills, loosened the scarf around his neck, put the pill into his mouth and tried to swallow the thick white pill with his tea. John could see his struggle clear as day. In fact, if he was being honest, he had noticed that Sherlock barely swallowed, and realized that he had to be in a considerable amount of pain, or at least discomfort.

“Did you even eat anything today?“ The guy asked him. Sherlock types on his phone “stop treating me like a child”, to which the guy said “Well I’m dealing with a child!”, earning himself another death glare, and then Sherlock stood up with the phone abruptly, stomped out of the room, and then they heard a door slamming shut and getting locked.

The man slowly walked over to the couch and gently sat down next to John, face in his hands in utter defeat.

John didn’t know what to do or say, so he just stayed silent, waiting for the other to compose himself. So he just drank from his tea.

The other suddenly came back to reality. “Sorry about that.. he’s just a bit..”

“It’s fine.” John said, setting his cup down. They looked at each other.

“Done. He’s just done. But I guess everyone would be. He is on his third round of antibiotics now-“

“Pardon, ‘Third’?!” John was glad he had put his cup down because he was a hundred percent sure he would of spat it out when he heard this.

The man nodded. “Yeah. He’s had a reaction to the first - triggered his asthma. Doc didn’t know that asthmatics can’t have penicillin.”

“Wait, he has asthma?”

The man nodded. “Not something he’s proud of, that’s for sure. Anyways, we are just getting rid of the bronchitis now. After he’d ignored the infection on his vocal cords, it started spreading into his entire airways. Poor bloke was about to be hospitalized when we finally got him to a doctor. He has a distinct hate for doctors. Wonder why.”

John suddenly felt self conscious. He cleared his throat. “Doesn’t like docs, huh.”

The man next to him laughed. “Yeah, good thing you’re not one. He would hate you over his dead soul.”

John gave a nervous laugh. “Hehe, yeah, I bet.” Note to self: don’t let anyone know about his doctor title. “So what about you? What do you work as?”

“I was Wil- I mean Sherlock’s bodyguard. I stayed with him all through his concerts and world tour. I was with him when he had gone to studio recordings for his albums. Well... until...” he had had a fond smile while he talked about their past, a smile that vanished at those last words as if a sudden rain shower poured down on him.

John gave him a sympathetic smile and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure you tried to help him, every day.”

The man smiled. “Thanks mate. Oh geez, I haven’t even introduced myself yet, have I? Name’s Greg Lestrade, but just call me Greg. Tried telling that to Sherlock for all those years but it’s utterly hopeless. I work for the metropolitan police again now, as Detective Inspector.”

John tried and failed not to look at him in awe. He could have chosen so many jobs, and what did he do? Go to a war zone for years, hoping to die as some sort of hero.

“Sherlock sometimes helps me on cases that we can’t explain.” Greg added, somehow sounding both proud and embarrassed at the same time.

“He helps you. On cases. How exactly does that work if he can’t even talk?” John inquired.

Greg groaned. “He Can talk. At this point it’s only him being stubborn. I mean yeah, it probably feels weird because of the scarring on the vocal cords, but other than that and his different sounding voice, he could talk just fine if he wanted. The docs can’t get him to say a single word, though. He won’t even try. None of us know what he even sounds like now. It could be a massive change, or only a small one and he might even still be able to perform. But ever since this one doctor told him months ago that if he didn’t rest his voice, he would never sing again,.. ever since then, he hasn’t uttered a single word. He isn’t in pain, at least not physically, not now. It’s all psychological, but he refuses to acknowledge it. He is probably just paranoid; we had to get him off his antidepressant for the last antibiotics as a last resort. Just be glad you met him After the whole withdrawal thing.”

John was dumbstruck at the explanation. There was so much... wrong with this whole thing.

Greg sighed. “Anyways, his antibiotics have wrecked havoc on his guts, he couldn’t keep anything for over a week - was not fun when I found out. He still has to take probiotics but I think he still doesn’t like the thought of food.” He explained and then pushed himself up, walked over to Sherlock’s bedroom door and knocked. “Sherlock? Come on, just three more days.”

His phone chimed in his pocket. ‘Unless you need me on a triple murder, stop bothering me.’

“Sherlock. Open the bloody door.” He said more forceful now. When not even a text came, he tried again, louder and more firm. “William Sherlock Scott Holmes, open the door this instant or I will break it down.” (John’s brain was trying to puzzle this together.)

His phone chimed again. ‘You wouldn’t dare’

“Oh yes I would! I did it once, remember? I can do it again, and I will!”

John found this very amusing. It felt like Greg really was dealing with a child.

The door opened, at last. “Come out. Eat one of the biscuits at least, or some leftover chicken soup.”

John didn’t know if he nodded or anything, but both men came back to him. Sherlock went back to his place on the sofa while Greg went into the kitchen to grab a bowl of leftover soup.

He spoke up again when he came back. “Before I forget: Mycroft told me that he wants you to call him. And he means it this time.” He told Sherlock half-heartedly as he set the bowl down.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Who?” John asked. What a weird name. Even weirder than ‘Sherlock’.

Sherlock grabbed hold of his phone again. “Just the most dangerous man you can ever encounter”, he let the voice say and took hold of the spoon.

John raised an eyebrow at Greg, who sighed.

“Mycroft Holmes.” John’s brain was racing. “Holmes? As in-“

“Yes. He is Sherlock’s older brother, who took it upon himself to take up the role of his manager.”

Sherlock meanwhile was typing again. “And he is the British government.”

Greg tolled his eyes. “He has a minor position in the bri-“ He was about to explain to John when Sherlock selected the last message and hit play again. “And he is the British government.”

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock selected the app to start talking from a specific word. “British government.”

“Okay one more time and I’m taking that thing from you.”

Sherlock then took his phone in both his hands and held it to his chest, as if his phone was a necessity like breathing. John figured it probably was.

Lestrade added further “it’s been long since due that you stop using that bloody app and just TALK!”

Sherlock reacted a lot differently from what John had expected he would. The youngster seemed awfully distressed, curled in on himself and actually started Shaking.

Greg turned away. “Fine. Not now. Not today. But one day you Have to talk.”

Sherlock shook his head. ‘Never’, he swore inside his head. ‘Never.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For now, don't take anyones words or thoughts as facts. One dramatizes, one sugarcoats, and John is still trying to make sense of everything. But you can definitely try to make your own thoughts on this ;)


	3. An attempt was made (in so many ways)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holy hell when did this turn so dark and drama-y. You can call me the queen of drama when I’m done with this. 
> 
> WARNING FOR MENTIONS OF ALCOHOLISM AND A FAILED SUICIDE ATTEMPT (Before any harm was done)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be adding parts of backstory at the beginning from now on, and the story chapter starts after them. Will make the backstory in italics if it’s too confusing otherwise, but I personally find italics harder to read.

Backstory Part One

Mycroft was a very liked guy at school. He only brought home straight A’s, what made him loved by his parents. They treated him to cake as celebration, which made him slightly over the ‘average BMI’ over time.

His little brother couldn’t have been more of the opposite. He came to school when Mycroft graduated, and was the schools target of bullying, missed a lot of days because he got sick very often, got made fun of for not being able to keep up in PE because of his asthma, and was called ‘stick figure’ on a regular basis. He was still incredibly smart. Too smart for the teachers likings. He corrected any and every spelling mistake on test questions, corrected his teachers whenever they pronounced something incorrectly or had old information to which he had new ones, and his cheeky answers got him into detention on a regular basis.

But he loved music. Loved how it could describe things that he would never dream of telling anyone. Loved how it made him forget everything about his life. He’d wanted an instrument, and picked up a violin.

“He’s a natural”, his violin teacher had said.

But at some point, playing wasn’t enough. He felt the music in his very heart and soul, and it was trying to break out of him.

So he started to sing. He sang, every day. Every object was turned into a microphone: ice cream cones, hairbrushes, spoons; heck, even a pencil did the job (just not his homework). Even wrote his own songs. But always stopped when heard so much as someone passing his room door.

His family kept complimenting on his voice. He started believe them.

He was just twelve years old when his brother suddenly had the idea to get him on one of those talent shows. Sherlock has seen his chance, and took it. He had hoped of making it so far that he wouldn’t have to go to the stupid school anymore.

The audience was blown away, the judges more than impressed. Until....

“I think you’re too young and inexperienced. Focus on your school work, get a singing teacher, and maybe you’ll even find something else that you like. Music isn’t a life for everyone.”

He had run off the stage while the audience made their disapproval known in loud boo-ing. He hadn’t even stayed for the judges to give their ‘yes’ or ‘no’.

The bullying just got worse after the episode aired.

Chapter Three: An attempt was made (in so many ways)

John had taken his leave after Sherlock told them through his phone that he was tired and retreated into his room. Greg told him that it’s just the antibiotics making him feel cold and tired all day.

John hadn’t gone back the next day. Or the day after that. He just felt like there was so much going on in their lives, and he was just intruding.

Like starting to watch a movie when it’s at the last third, not knowing a thing that happened and having to find everything out by the last twenty minutes.

He couldn’t help going back to his search on his laptop though, looking through a bunch of videos of fan recordings of his tour. Although the high pitched screams, he would probably never get used to. He wondered at every song how he could go from his rather deep talking voice, to hitting those high notes (and getting the female fans to orgasm apparently).

He had just had his session with his therapist Ella. And for the first time in what felt like forever, when she asked him if he’d had any suicidal thoughts, and he had said ‘no’, he had smiled as he’d said the truth. All these dang weeks where he’d lied about it and now he didn’t have to.

He was pretty sure that she knew he had lied.

He’d just closed the door to her office house when his phone rang. And to his surprise, the ID said ‘Sherlock Holmes ‘.

He felt hope fluttering in his chest. Was he talking now?

He pressed the ‘accept call’ button. “Sherlock?”

“John?” It was Lestrade, and for some reason the tone in which he’d said his name made him uneasy. Something happened.

“Yeah?”

“Sherlock is missing.”

“...what?”

“He’s been missing since yesterday. Probably even the night before.”

“Why would he- how can he even be ‘missing’? Wouldn’t people recognize him?”

“That’s the problem. We don’t know if he’s been abducted or if he’s just hiding somewhere. It’s not unusual for him to disappear for a few hours, but it’s been over a day now.”

John frowned. “Who is ‘we’?”

He heard Lestrade sigh. “Mycroft. He had called Sherlock and said something that might have ... it was a bit not good. But he hasn’t seen a glimpse of him on any of the CCTV cameras.”

John pressed two fingers against his forehead. “So why call me? You know him better than me. I only just met him a few days ago.”

“I’ve known him for five years and lord, I wish. God I wish that was the case.”

Silence on both ends.

“What did his brother say to scare him off?” John finally asked, and wondered why he even cared about this whole thing. He had literally just met them!

“It might be better if you could come down to the Yard..”

So John had done just that. It’s not like he even had anything better to do, anyway.

He limped into the Yard, getting strange looks from the other workers but ignoring them in favor of looking for Greg.

He found the man in question in a small office room, with two other officers, who were busy typing something on their computers.

“John! I’m glad you came. We might have a lead.” Greg said when he saw John entering. His two colleges have him strange looks.

“What did you find?” He asked. Greg pointed to the pc screen of the female co-worker.

“Is that...”

“It definitely looks to be his scarf.” Greg confirmed. He said, already on the move. “You coming?” He asked John.

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

Greg gave him a nod and walked out to get one of the cars ready.

“So, you’re the bloke who the freak likes.” The female worker suddenly said.

“‘Freak’?” John asked, highly unamused.

“Ya know, Mister ‘I’m too above everything’. Can solve a crime in two minutes but won’t say a word anymore.”

“Sherlock? Oh lord... he is So not ‘above everything’, believe me.”

“You haven’t really met him, then.” The male worker said this time, turning to John. “We’re coming in the other car after you.” He said, and John took that as the cue to leave.

Inside the police car, John couldn’t help but ask “why do your colleges hate him?”

Greg laughed. “Who? Sally? She’s just mad because she has a crush on him.”

“A crush on him?”

“Well hello, skinny bloke who can sing? Of course she couldn’t resist getting the hots for him. All the worse though, because of him helping us sometimes.”

John never would have thought about that.

“Anderson just can’t stand him in general. But the feeling seems to be mutual between them.” Greg said with a laugh. He then remembered why he’d called John in the first place. “Open the glove department, his phone is in there.”

John did as he was told, although unsure as to why he was taking Sherlock’s phone into his hands.

“There is an app on it called ‘TapeACall’, it has their phone call recorded.”

John was momentarily blinded by the amount of apps that were installed on the phone, but then found the one Greg spoke of and tapped on it with a finger.

There were a bunch of phone call recordings listed.

“It’s the first one on the list. That’s the last one he had.” Greg explained.

John pressed on a play button on it. “Sherlock, this is your final warning. Get your act together and start using that voice of yours, or I WILL tell the press the real reason.” John was shocked, because for one, the guy sounded a lot differently from what he’d expected. But.. what did he mean, ‘I’ll tell the press the real reason’? He wondered. He looked at Greg for help.

“Mycroft had managed to get the press believing that all that happened was that he’d lost his voice, and is now simply too stubborn to talk. Which is partly true, mind. But the press believes what they want, and when they heard of the overdose, they were thrilled about the opportunity. Well, the point is: nobody knows about the scarring. If they did, his career would be over. Well, with what Sherlock is doing it may as well already be, but Mycroft and his power complex refuse to let it, and he somehow managed to get the thought planted into Sherlock’s brain that he is responsible for his own doom, even though Mycroft kept pushing him until the bitter end. Anyways, we’re here.”

“Where are we?” John asked. The building looked ready to be demolished. Greg picked up the blue scarf from the dirty ground.

“Drug den. Let’s see what the idiot’s done to himself This time.” Greg muttered as he opened the door with care, as the ceiling looked about to collapse.

John felt his stomach turn to ice as he followed Lestrade, passing the, sadly many, passed out people, some too high to even notice they were there.

“Sherlock!” Greg yelled. If he was expecting the lad to just come rushing to them and jumping into their arms, he was horribly mistaken, John thought.

They managed to find him, going in and out of consciousness in a heap on the floor, surrounded by an abandoned knife next to his arms and at least three alcohol bottles. John cringed, he had lost his entire family to alcoholism, and Sherlock.... Sherlock didn’t seem the type to be drinking alcohol. Not to mention the type to just try to take their life, he thought as he stared at the knife.

“Well you can forget the antibiotics now.” Greg mumbled angrily as he tried to wake Sherlock a bit by tapping on his cheek. “I don’t think he shot up, thank god.” Greg called over to John. He had seen Sherlock high. This was just Sherlock being absolutely pissed.

John came over to the two, Greg was already kneeling down next to Sherlock, trying to pull him up so he could carry him to the car and bring him home.

John took one of his wrists to check his pulse. It was rapid but pretty weak.

“J’hn..” they heard the quiet mumble when Greg had gotten Sherlock up.

Both elders stared each other in the eyes.

“Did he just say my name..?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still got SO MUCH planned for this, my brain just keeps coming up with so friggin much omg, this will be at 10-15k words in record time. And to think that I had originally planned to make this a one-shot XDDD


	4. He likes me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is getting the wrong idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for my absence, I’ve been writing on this like nonstop and keep adding more and more ideas, and that is why it takes a bit longer for me to update.

Backstory Part Two

Sherlock couldn’t be happier. He had just won Britain’s Got Talent, with just 16 years of age.

He couldn’t believe it. All these years where his entire school had made fun of him, told him his voice sucked, told him to just ‘shut yo ass up’. He had proven them all wrong.

Especially his brother had been encouraging this whole time that he shouldn’t believe their words. That he was amazing, and that they were all jealous.

He then had taken it upon himself, at just 23 years of age, to become Sherlock’s personal manager.

They’d worked in perfect harmony.

Until that fateful day when a fan managed to grab him off the streets.

Sherlock had just been done with recording, and the driver that Mycroft has sent was stuck in traffic - the streets were full with screaming fans, when they had somehow gotten the info that William Scott was in the building. So he had foolishly gone out into the masses of people, planned on hailing a cab, and go to his next appointment to a photo shooting for the cover of his first album.

One of his fans seemed to have taken an.... extra interest in him. She had managed to catch him off guard - quite literally - taken him to her home and locked him into her bedroom, telling him all about her only wanting her ‘first time’ with him.

Mycroft had managed to get there before any physical harm to his little brother could be done, but the shock remained.

Two days later, Greg Lestrade had introduced himself to Sherlock, and Mycroft became part of the British government, using all the money for installing surveillance around the city, and later, all around the world when he had gone on tour. He had his little brother just keep going, pretending like nothing happened.

Nobody had a clue.

Chapter four: He likes me?

When they both carried Sherlock out of the drug den, Donovan and Anderson had arrived in the second car. Anderson was taking notes while she just stood with her arms crossed over her chest, leaning against the cowling of the car in an attempt to appear cool.

Only when they got Sherlock safely on the backseats did John notice that he had left his walking cane inside the car. He had just gone up a couple stairs in a collapse ready building, and carried a man all the way out, without pain or a limp or just.. anything!

“Seems like it’s not just you who’s got a psychosomatic problem.” John told the unconscious Sherlock with a fond smile. “And looks like it’s not just me who doesn’t actually want to die.”

Greg came from the other side through the open door. “Gonna have the mother of all hangovers, the poor sod.” He sighed as he and John got Sherlock turned somewhat comfortable on the backseats. “We’ll get him back on his meds once he’s sober. He’s such a mess without them.”

“Did he shoot away his brains again?” Donovan asked from where she came over to their car.

“Nope. Just the bliss of being too drunk to know who he is.” Greg replied with dark humor.

She groaned and Anderson just rolled his eyes.

John had perked up on their conversation and decided to ask her directly. “Why do you hate him so much?”

To his surprise, she actually blushed. “He’s too brilliant for his own good. He has zero appreciation for any of it. I bet this is all just like some really weird dream to him. He doesn’t care how reckless he is.”

John figured that there was something he didn’t know, couldn’t complete the puzzle. After all, he feels like he was thrown into a 5000 piece puzzle without the picture to orientate himself. There wasn’t a lot that he was getting out of this by just looking at the mixed pieces.

“I’m bringing him to his flat. No need to have him wake up from this in the detox room.” Greg told his colleges.

“Hope you know that this means he won’t be working with us for at least two cases?” Anderson chirped.

“Yes, believe it or not, I actually remember my own conditions I made for him.” Greg said annoyed.

Anderson help up his hands. “Just following protocol, chief.”

Greg just rolled his eyes and turned to his police car, getting into the driver seat.

John, without comment or needing directions, went into the back seat on the other side to take Sherlock’s head onto his lap. Greg gave him a questioning look; usually only family members or lovers would think of even doing this. Or.. doctors. But Sherlock wouldn’t have let John anywhere near him if he was a doctor. Right?

John had offered to stay with Sherlock, but Greg told him he’d had experience with a drugged out Sherlock. John still stayed with them all night.

Sherlock stayed asleep all night, leaving John and Greg just talking.

“I wasn’t imagining it. He said my name.” John said, still unsure of how to feel about it. He kept staring at Sherlock’s face and dark curls, feeling a sudden need to run his fingers through them, like seeing a kitten and wanting to pet and hold it. But he managed to keep it to himself. He wonders how Lestrade managed it all these years, or if Sherlock let him.

“Yeah. He did.” Greg put his hands over his eyes. “Lord he finally speaks and his first word is your name. I mean, I’m glad that it wasn’t ‘Mycroft’, but I gotta admit I’m a bit surprised at this revelation.”

John was already spluttering. “I am not gay!”

Greg raised an eyebrow at him. “Didn’t say that you were, mate.”

John blushed. “Sorry.. it’s like everyone assumes that.... well..”

“It’s fine. I was just gonna say that he seems to like you. And that’s saying something. In all of our time he never so much as thought someone was ‘nice’ or ‘pretty’ or anything. No wet dreams or boners, ever. He was just a teen when I met him, but there was just Nothing. It’s like he’s asexual.”

John just blushed even harder.

“Jesus, sorry. Look at me, discussing his sex life - or lack thereof - with someone while he’s completely drunk.” Greg said with a laugh. John just joined with a nervous and uncomfortable laugh, trying to ease the tension that had taken hold upon them.

“Hey, he doesn’t mind. He gets asked about his ‘dream woman description’ in almost every interview. He has his answers memorized by now. Or well, Mycrofts answers.”

John only nodded. He could never imagine such a life. And to think that he had always wanted to be a celebrated hero.

When Sherlock stirred in the morning, Greg was already up and ready to deal with him. He had put a bunch of paracetamoland some tea next to the sofa where they had put him on last night.

The first thing Sherlock did when he fully woke up was putting an arm over his eyes. Greg chuckled lightly. “Yeah, figured you’ll have a mother of a headache. There’s some pain meds and tea fo-“

He didn’t get any further before the younger lad started retching. Greg had been prepared - thank god - and already had a bucket at the ready, but the sight and sounds still had him feel sorry for him.

John had woken early as usual, and left a note saying that he’d had appointments. In all honesty, he just felt even more out of place from what Greg had told him last night.

Sherlock liked him?

Of all the people, this VIP, megastar had to like HIM? A broken soldier?


	5. Are you kidding me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of ‘detective Sherlock’. Or rather ‘catching criminals on my own’-Sherlock.  
John is still unsure of it all. Poor sod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never thought this would get so much love ^-^  
Have another chapter today

Backstory Part Three

Greg Lestrade had worked for the Met for years, but when his wife had threatened to divorce him because he was always working, he had decided to take on something new as a job. In perfect timing to a newcomer superstar needing an all-time bodyguard.

The start was a bit rocky. The young lad wasn’t even of legal age yet, and Lestrade was of an age where he may as well be his father. They had been at odds for a while, because Greg felt so responsible for him so quickly.

But maybe that’s why they started getting along rather quick. He had found out about the asthma very soon; a perk of living in the same flat at the time.

They had created a signal for when he needed his inhaler on stage without needing words. He’d make a peace sign (the crowds always went wild whenever he did that), and Greg would hand him a towel with the inhaler under it once the song was over, so that he could take a dose while pretending to get sweat from his forehead and face. He was clever about hiding it from the public.

Greg started to become more of a family than his actual family over the years of his fame. He could trust Greg.

Greg, who treated him like a friend. Who didn’t judge his ‘black spells’. Who understood him without needing words. Who didn’t ask him about his nightmares.

He even told him about what happened to have him need a bodyguard. Greg had been absolutely furious at Mycroft then, getting Sherlock psychiatric help (against both Holmes’ opinions). Apparently the years of bullying and the.. ‘event’ had taken a toll on the young lad. He was put on antidepressants from their first year of working together.

Greg never stopped supporting and trying to help him. Never stopped when not even Sherlock saw that he needed help.

Especially not then.

His wife divorced him anyway.

Sherlock could also be a massive pain in the ***. They were at the photo shooting for his first album - or were supposed to be. The moment they got to the building, Sherlock had said something about needing the toilet, so Greg had gone and talked to the staff.

Only, Sherlock never came back. So after ten minutes, Greg went to look for him, already fearing the worst that maybe some fan had managed to get past the security guards and found him and did God Knows What to the poor lad.

He was surprised when he found that somebody was playing a piano. And really well at that. Greg turned every corner, following the music, and to his surprise found Sherlock sitting at this massive (and horribly expensive looking) piano. ( <https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=H61XBWV1WoA> )

Greg looked down at his watch, and decided to risk it. “What are you doing here?” He asked softly, the music was just so beautiful. Sherlock kept playing without any pause or wrong note as he turned his head to face Greg. “Playing.” He stated with that sarcastic grin on his face.

Greg didn’t bother arguing. “But how? There aren’t even note sheets. I didn’t know you could play this thing.”

Sherlock shrugged, still playing to perfection. “I play the violin. So how hard can this thing be? The keys just stay in place, on the violin there is always a different finger position for each string.” He then stopped playing, and Greg almost wished he hadn’t. “Come on champ, the guys are waiting for us.”

Chapter five: Are you kidding me?

John had avoided all attempts at contact from everyone for about a week. He had turned off his phone after the third text of Sherlock complaining of boredom, and Greg texting him to ignore Sherlock.

He had had another appointment with Ella, mostly telling her about everything that happened and that he had no idea how to deal with Sherlock possibly Like-liking him.

To his utter surprise, she told him that in all confidence, Sherlock would be the last person to crush on anybody. He had asked her what she meant, and she replied with “doctor - patient - confidentiality”.

So John came to one conclusion: Sherlock had been her patient before. It did make sense; Greg had told him about Sherlock being on antidepressants, and Ella was the only good therapist that London had. John knew, because he had been to every other therapists before, and they had been completely unprofessional, completely deserving the 2 stars on google reviews. And maybe Greg’s claim that Sherlock was ‘asexual’ might have been true, after all? He still rather didn’t risk it. He means it when he says he isn’t gay.

John had decided he may as well get his shopping done while he was already out, trying to clear his head.

He was walking without the cane ever since they brought a drunk Sherlock to 221B. But today he was wishing he’d had it with him. Not because of his leg, but because he was suddenly thrown to the ground as a mad dashing stranger ran straight into him, and to make matters worse, Sherlock (wearing the Belstaff we all know and love as his disguise) had come running after whoever was currently on top of John, and jumped on top of the bundle. John just groaned.

He didn’t have to stay on the ground with two bodies on top of him for long, though, thank god. Lestrade and his two colleges, who hate Sherlock, came running with handcuffs and guns. Greg pushed Sherlock off the guy, which he’d had in a vice grip, and put the handcuffs on the guy’s wrists.

Donovan had the mind to help John up again.

Greg shoved the criminal into Anderson’s hands and turned to Sherlock. “How many times do I have to tell you not to chase after criminals on your own?! You were lucky that John was here! One of these days you’re gonna get hurt!”

Sherlock didn’t say anything, which nobody expected him to.

Greg then turned to his colleges. “You two, deal with Daniel. I gotta take care of this one.”

Sally and Philip just nodded, each having a tight grip on either arm of the criminal and taking him back to the police station.

With that out of the way, Greg turned his attention back to the young lad. “You know better than to run off on your own. I don’t think I have to remind you why you got me in the first place. Disguise or not.” He scolded him.

Sherlock actually flinched at the words, giving John a bit of a shock. He nodded.

Greg nodded at him in a ‘you’re forgiven’ kind of way, and turned to John. “Anything I can do for you? Did you get hurt?”

John hadn’t even thought about wether he took a hit in the fall, but he felt fine. He shook his head.

“You sure?” John nodded.

Greg laughed. “Sherlock, I think you’re rubbing off on him.”

John blushed, and Sherlock glared at them both.

John looked at Sherlock strangely. “Weren’t you forbidden from helping on cases?” He was sure he had heard this police guy say that.

Greg scratched his neck. “Well.... that was before we hit rock bottom on this one, and the guy was already responsible for eight deaths in two days. Can’t have him commit further ones.”

Sherlock just shrugged. John was sick of this silence. He was used to the phone. Where was his phone?

“Alright, where is your phone? Or are you now learning sign language or something?” John finally asked.

Sherlock shook his head, pointing to Lestrade, then at his own head and making a ‘he is stupid in the head’ gesture.

Greg glowered at him. “No, we’ve had the idea before, trust me. But I’d never in a million years pick up that twisted-fingers-language, while Sherlock can learn Anything in two days.” Greg explained.

Sherlock just shrugged again. “His phone is in custody, because our criminal had managed to get Sherlock into his hands and called me from his phone. Then Sherlock got free when we arrived and the guy ran - into you.”

John just nodded. “Well, I was on my way to the stores.. glad I could help.” He made to walk away when Greg suddenly remembered something.

“I’m gonna need your statement at the office, since you pretty much stopped Daniel single handedly. Or rather, completely free handed.” He said with a laugh, at which Sherlock rolled his eyes and John just groaned. “Do I really have to? He ran into me, I didn’t even do anything!”

Greg shrugged. “It’s protocol. I don’t make the rules. Well, not all of them at least. You may aswell go with us, and then I’ll let you free as soon as we’re done.”

Accepting his fate, and keeping his gaze away from Sherlock as much as possible, he followed the others to the Yard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a bonus, I have made a cover picture for this fic. It will be of use for a part later on.   
It's kind of surprising how many CDs I own and still had such a hard time figuring out where the picture is supposed to start and end. I gave up in the end, so please excuse my horrible photoshop XDD anyways, here is the link:
> 
> https://www.deviantart.com/xxenayx/art/Hear-your-voice-Sherlock-fanfic-cover-810024110


	6. Mycroft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep forgetting to upload the new chapters I have. And, guys, this was originally planned to be a ONE-SHOT. And suddenly all this drama happened and we aren’t even at the half of it! How am I supposed to get this done until the surgery on Wednesday?! XDD  
And I just want to put this out there: all characters, artists and music titles do not belong to me, nor will they ever do. They all deserve to be respected and I am only using them for entertainment. No money is gained; only thoughts, feels, time and effort put into it.

Backstory Part Four

Going on tour was a new challenge for them. Mycroft had done all the planning, having sent everything to them both (although Sherlock didn’t even look at any of it, he wanted it to be a surprise where they were going). Traveling for hours on end by planes, staying in hotels and the tour bus they were forced to stay in at times.

“I’m bored.” Sherlock complained almost every time. “Turn on the radio.” He commanded. They had a radio where they were sat in the back of the bus, but it was out of the younger’s reach. Greg complied, he was sick of the silence himself.

Him and the driver were then just listening to Sherlock besting his own songs (the fun of having had his first album out and hearing his own songs all day on the radio) and whatever other songs came on, and Greg smiled fondly at him when he bloomed at Sia’s Never Give Up.

Two hours later, some time around 4 in the morning, the teen had tired himself out and fallen asleep, his head leaning against Greg’s shoulder.

Sherlock had never been on a plane before. Greg told him that he’d flown with his (ex) wife to Majorca before, on vacation.

This kind of felt like vacation as well, because all he had to do was keep fans hands away, follow Sherlock everywhere, and make sure he was okay and healthy. And as a bonus, he was treated to a bunch of musical performances, where he got to be in front of the front seats, and go backstage. He actually really liked his new job, a lot.

He told Sherlock not to worry too much. That he could just close his eyes and nod off, and that each seat had headphones, but that he wasn’t allowed to sing for the entire flight. He wasn’t sure wether he had meant that last part jokingly or serious, but either way, it had worked.

Chapter six: Mycroft

What did John ever do to deserve this?

He had done his part in writing his stupid statement, which took For. Ever. because he had to fill out so many forms that Sherlock didn’t have to do because he already had a huge folder. Sherlock had also gotten his phone back, after they had confirmed the fingerprints and recorded the phone call to their computers, and was let go afterwards, while John was barely even started on his statement, which he has no idea how to even start. ‘I just left my therapists office when the criminal ran into me’ sounded a bit weird.

He had explained his situation to Greg after they had taken the guy in. So why did he have to fill this stupi- ugh.. just get done with it, he scolded himself.

So, after taking three bloody hours trying to get his thoughts together, he had given his papers to one of the workers and just left. He Still had to get the shoppings done and it was already late evening. And it was just his luck that it started raining cats and dogs, and apparently all the cabs were taken by other people who just wanted to get home dry.

Greg came running to him. “John! Come on, I can take you home.” He offered.

“No, it’s alright. I don’t live far from here.” That was a complete lie, since his tiny flat was at the outskirts of London and the police station was right in the middle of the city.

“Don’t give me that shit, Sherlock told me where you live.”

John glared at him. “Then how about you take me to his majesty and I can have a word with him about telling other people sensitive information?”

Greg laughed. “Well, sure. But I thought you were ignoring him?”

John’s cheeks flushed. “I’m not.”

“Sure. Blocking all of his calls for over a week now-“

“I lost my phone! The battery has probably died by now.” He felt horrible for lying, but he didn’t really want Greg knowing that he was embarrassed at the possibility of Sherlock liking him. It would make everything so damn awkward.

And why the hell did he even care?

“Well, I guess that’s bad luck. Sorry mate.” Greg offered.

Now John just felt horrible.

“You know what, just bring me to his flat. Might as well talk to him.”

Greg smiled at him. “Sure. Get in.”

Greg only dropped John off, telling him that he still had to go to a meeting.

Well, it’s now or never, John thought.

He was preparing himself, trying to find the gentlest ways to turn him down. Trying not to think about how Sherlock would be heartbroken, but they just would never work.

All thoughts and worries died in his head when he heard this sad song playing from inside. ( <https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=1cIFqtI3P_A> )

‘I’ve tried so hard to tell myself

that you’re gone

But though you’re still with me

I’ve been alone all along’

John opened the door to the flat. “Jesus, who died in here?” He joked.

The music kept playing, Sherlock just laid on his back on the sofa with his eyes closed, his phone resting on his stomach as it played the music.

The music was making John’s blood feel like ice in his veins.

Once the song was fully over, Sherlock went to his app and typed “my career.”

John snorted. “Dramatic much?”

“No, very much real.” A new voice said from behind where John stood, sending chills down his back. He slowly turned around to face the new guy.

“I’m guessing you’re Mycroft.” John said, his entire posture screaming ‘soldier’.

“Oh, he has a brain.” Mycroft said smugly. “You’re correct, I am Mycroft. And who are you to my brother?”

John kept a poker face. “I’m nobody important.”

Mycroft faked looking surprised. “Oh? Because I understand you came here with the intention of telling my brother that you aren’t interested in a relationship.”

Sherlock looked weirdly at John at that. John swallowed, still keeping eye contact with Mycroft.

The older Holmes looked away first. “Well, either way, I have to be on my way.” He said and went to get his suitcase.

“Wait.” John suddenly said, making him halt in his movements. “What did you say to Sherlock? Before I came here.”

Mycroft locked eyes with his brother, but Sherlock averted his gaze. “Drastic times call for drastic measures.”

“Mycroft, forcing him to talk isn’t going to work.” Lestrade said, suddenly making an appearance. “And you could have told me that you were here before the meeting, without terrorizing him.” He told him off.

Mycroft stepped closer to Greg, John taking a few back to get away from the sudden tension.

“Something’s got to give.” Mycroft said, leaving the flat. Greg followed him.

John finally turned to Sherlock. He looked completely defeated. And John had this strange sudden urge to protect him.

He needed to change the subject. “So.. why do you always listen to these live versions of songs?”

Sherlock gave a silent sigh before he started typing. “Because on CDs, everything gets edited. Nothing is real anymore, it’s way too perfect.”

“THIS is the real deal.” He pointed to the live video that he still had open on a browser.

John nodded. He could understand this. As much as a non-musician could, he guessed. Sherlock looked so longingly at his phone.

John bit his lip. Should he tell him? Maybe Sherlock would be thrilled to know.. “hey, um... that night when we found you drunk... you said my name, Sherlock. You.. you said my name. You can talk.” He told him with a grin.

Sherlock though, not so much. If anything, he became even more upset. He typed on his phone “you’re lying!”

John gaped at him. “I’m not! I swear!”

Sherlock repeated the message multiple times over “you’re lying! You’re lying! You’re lying! You’re ly.....”

John yelled over the damn voice. “Sherlock stop it! I’m telling the truth! You can TALK! You have a voice, Sherlock!”


	7. Right now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is learning something new about Sherlocks and Gregs time on tour.
> 
> This chapter has the backstory fitting in with what happens in the present. It wasn't planned like this but oh well. (You won't understand it fully if you don't read it all, though xD)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is getting SO MUCH LOVE, I love you guys omg
> 
> This started with such a small idea and turned into over 10k words within two and a half days. Place your bets now on what you think this fic will end up with XD I won't give any hints as to what is to come; just know that there is going to be even MORE drama!  
(And this won't turn into Johnlock. John has been worrying over nothing, but the poor guy doesn't know it haha)

Backstory Part five

It was after the first performance of the tour, and they arrived back at the hotel around midnight. Both were pretty much knackered, but still had the ‘after show jitters’, adrenaline pumping through them at the same time. 

Sherlock had told him that he’d try to get some sleep. He still had to take his meds, which made him fall asleep within fifteen minutes. Normally.

But not this time. He still had this sometimes; the crippling feeling that this was all just a dream that he didn’t want to wake up from, ever since the talent show. That he never deserved any of this. And no reassurances could convince him, not until this sudden bout of anxiety left.

Greg had told him that it’s from depression, and that it would pass. Told him that everything would be alright. 

He just really wished it would leave right now, as he started crying. He had these uncontrollable bouts of crying non-stop. Greg would usually just hold him for hours until he could stop, telling him how he was just under a lot of pressure and needed to have an outlet every once in a while. 

So when Greg checked on him an hour later, only to find the lad still crying, he immediately did what he always did. It was like a routine by now. He just came to his bed and wrapped him into his arms. “Hey.. it’s okay. It’s all okay.” He just managed to get him started up again, but Sherlock long since didn’t feel embarrassed about this anymore and just buried his face in the elder’s shirt.

“Are you homesick?” Greg had suddenly asked him. Sherlock shrugged, probably a bit. 

Greg then let go of him for a moment. He took Sherlock’s phone and held it out to him. “How about this: write down how you feel, and then send it tosomeone in your family.”

Sherlock had looked at him as if he’d lost it, but then decided he may as well write something down.

He never got to send it, having lost himself in working on the melody to his new lyrics. 

When Sherlock took Greg to a recording studio, and let him hear the result after hours of work, Greg had actually teared up a bit himself and hugged the younger lad.

Chapter seven: Right now

Sherlock had refused to answer John, so the elder decided to just leave and get his shopping done (finally). He couldn’t understand why Sherlock didn’t jump in joy when he was told that he could still talk. 

He shook his head at the thoughts. Who even could understand that fella? Well, Greg apparently could. Guess it comes from being almost adjoined with him for years. 

But John couldn’t stop thinking, wondering, as he picked his groceries with barely even half of his attention. 

He probably spaced out once or twice, because he only came back to reality when a little kid rammed him with a shopping cart, without so much as apologizing; just laughed and drove off. He couldn’t tell wether it was a boy or a girl, but it didn’t matter to him. John shook his head, what happened to disciplining children? He couldn’t see the mother anywhere, either. Or father. He looked down at his watch. It was a bit after 8 pm. 

‘You don’t have a hero complex. Let the parents look out for their own kids, they aren’t your business.’ He thought to himself.

Why did he always have this urge to help others? He shook his head and walked to the checkout, where he found the little kid again, talking to the cashier and giving the few items from inside the cart over, instead of putting them on the conveyer belt, and he only realized them that this was the mother. She told it to bring the cart away and wait inside the car, handing over the car keys. 

The kid hopped away with the cart, and the woman suddenly asked him if he’s ready to pay.

While he payed for his groceries he wondered how it must have been to go on a world tour as a teen. Miles and months away from his home and family. Only having Greg at his side. 

When John was home, he turned on his laptop again, going on YouTube and looking up videos of his other concerts (getting zero results the first time be because he had accidentally written ‘Sherlock’ instead of his art name). 

He clicked on one that had a good 2 million views. ( [https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ZQG_SMaVHNU](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ZQG_SMaVHNU))

From the looks of it, Sherlock had cut his long curls rather short. He was a bit surprised to find that the band's guitarist was tuning in with the 'whaoooo', and with just how much heart the song was. 'Crying on the inside', that's what he was sure that Sherlock must have felt when he sang this. 

'We won't be going home

for so long, for so long

but I know

I won't be on my own

On my own

and feeling like

Right now, 

I wish you were here with me~

And right now

Everything is new to me

You know I can't fight

the feeling

And every night I feel it

Right now, 

I wish you were here with me~'

John felt sad just listening to this. Sherlock shouted 'shake it Milano!', and John looked at the title of the video for real this time. He didn't know where they had been at what time, this could have been at the very start of the tour, or far later towards the end. All he knew was that this was one huge stadium. And that the millions of people were singing with him. 

He saw Sherlock making a peace sign near the end after singing the last ‘whaooo’ himself, and- was that Greg? He looked like him a lot, but it was hard to tell from the cameras watching Sherlock and the audience. Greg handed him a blue towel - seemed to be their color - and.. what exactly was he doing with it? He had his face down. Wouldn't you do this with your head leaning back? Or at least straight? 

And then he put something inside the towel. John had seen the left hand putting something in between it. He put the video back a few seconds, turned it on full screen, and- yes, he was definitely putting something away. 

Remembering what Greg had told him about Sherlock having asthma, he figured that this was probably how they kept it from the fans. 'Not proud of it', Greg had told him. Well if that wasn't the truth.

Truth... John closed the lid. He really had to tell them why he'd been avoiding them like the plague. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cue the drama gods, aka me*


	8. Sign of the times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long live the drama!  
Once again, the chapter and backstory go together. It’s not planned; I have the backstory parts all written down and then just add the chapters to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The (new) song that is mentioned in the backstory called ‘strong’ will be with video later on, so don’t fear!

Backstory Part six

Sherlock had planned on sending Mycroft a message.

Through a song.

Because he wouldn’t be able to reach him otherwise.

But after the recording was done, he’d decided to cancel it. He sounded hoarse, his vocals were far from the best he could do, and he didn’t want his brother knowing that he was weak. They had both been raised like that, that weakness means failure, and he already felt exposed for putting up ‘strong’ and ‘right now’. He had just written how he had felt, and when he’d played it to Greg, he’d loved every bit of it. They told the studio workers not to hand it out, and that was the last they heard of it.

Sherlock also missed his violin. Just strumming a little on the strings when he couldn’t fall asleep and didn’t feel like singing. If he was being honest, his instrument had him feel more homesick than missing his family.

Chapter eight: Sign of the times

When John was awake, pretty late at 8:35 in the morning, the first thing he thought was ‘go to Sherlock.’ It was like a call from higher power.

He got ready in record time and hailed a cab. He found that Greg was in the flat, but he couldn’t see Sherlock. “Morning.” Greg said from the kitchen, then drank from his coffee.

“Morning..” John said, not really sure where to go from here.

Sherlock thankfully came out from the bathroom with wet hair, rubbing it with a towel with one hand, the other one typing on his phone. “Do you know where I put my brush?” His phone asked, the question directed at Greg. John chuckled, getting Sherlock’s attention. “Oh hi,” his phone said.

Greg laughed. “Well someone is apparently still booting, and no, I don’t know where you put your own things.” He said pointedly, like this sort of thing happened a lot before. Sherlock just shrugged and went back into the bathroom, presumably looking for his lost hair brush.

Greg put a hand to his forehead as he leaned over his coffee, still chuckling. “Sorry, he gets like that sometimes. Anyways, something I can do for ya?”

John shook his head. “No thank you.. I was just... I just wanted to talk to Sherlock for a mo-“

Mrs Hudson suddenly stormed up the stairs with her radio. “Sherlock dear! Why didn’t you tell us you had a new song?” Sherlock had come out again as soon as he had just heard the vibrations of her steps. Her words shocked both Sherlock and Greg, because he damn well hadn’t so much as written a single line since before the end of the tour.

The song that blared from the cheap radio she had was without a doubt a song that he had told the workers to never leave their trusted hands.

John eyed them, not understanding the reason for their bug-eyed faces.

Sherlock and Greg looked at each other. “Mycroft...” Greg muttered the name as if it were a death threat.

And ‘speak of the devil and he thou appear’, Mycroft came inside the flat at that very moment. “Like my little surprise?” He asked smugly, apparently super proud of himself.

Sherlock was about to jump at him but Greg held him back with an outstretched hand to his chest. “You had no right.”

Mycroft sneered. “You seem to forget that I have access to everything you do.”

“That doesn’t give you the fucking right to publish something without his consent! You can’t just put something out there without so much as asking him first! There are laws, Mycroft. You gotta rule by them, and you gotta follow them like everyone else!” Greg yelled at him.

Mycroft didn’t seem the least bit amused, and John felt like he was going to suffocate from the tension inside the room. “Tough words, coming from someone who works For me.”

Sherlock choked behind Greg and John gave him a questioning look. “Are you firing me?” Greg asked, not in the least afraid.

“It would appear that I am.” Sherlock made another attempt at fighting his brother, but this time John held him back by an arm. Sherlock shot him a glare of betrayal. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.” John whispered to him. He was probably the only one that shat his pants if Mycroft would talk to him like this.

Mycroft left without another word, and Sherlock collapsed onto his knees, John’s hold doing nothing to support the younger lad.

The song still played on the radio. It was a damn long song.

John paid attention to the lyrics now. The voice definitely sounded much more hoarse than the clear voice he was used to hearing from the videos. ( https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=OLj8EcECKxk )

‘We never learn, we been here before  
Why are we always stuck and running from  
The bullets? The bullets?

Just stop your crying, it's a sign of the times

We gotta get away from here  
We gotta get away from here  
Just stop your crying, it'll be alright  
They told me that the end is near  
We gotta get away from here’

‘We don't talk enough, we should open up

Before it's all too much

Will we ever learn? We've been here before

It's just what we know’

What the hell had happened to make Sherlock write a song like this? John wondered.

Mrs Hudson looked a little guilty and turned down the volume, but man did this feel like a movie. Stuck in the weirdest drama John could ever imagine.

Sherlock had completely broken down by then, John looking lost at Greg for help. Greg immediately took the younger around the chest and carefully picked him up to get him on the sofa, telling Mrs Hudson to make some tea. The lady turned off the radio and went to the kitchen without a word.

John just watched as Greg had his arms around the lad, getting a sense of nostalgia because of how much younger Sherlock appeared right then. “It’s okay. It’s okay, mate. It’s alright.” He heard Greg say over and over as the younger just cried like a waterfall.

Mrs Hudson brought the tea to them and after some coaxing, Greg managed to get Sherlock to drink a few sips from it. He turned to John, who just stood there, feeling out of place. “Don’t worry, it’s okay. This just happens sometimes. He’s under a lot of stress.. and only just getting slowly back to the dosage of where he’d been for years with his meds. It’s all just a bit much.” He had told John softly, just stroking the young lad on his back.

John just nodded. He didn’t really know what to say.

He had just witnessed Greg losing his job as Sherlock’s bodyguard. Sherlock just lost his lifeline, from a decision his brother had made.

There was so much going wrong that John didn’t even know where to start.

And he always thought that his family had been fucked up, when they were still alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have until Wednesday morning in European time to decide if you want me to upload all of the backstory parts - which are 10 in total - or want to wait until I’m back. Because I’ll be in the hospital for a week after the surgery and have no idea if I’ll have wifi, or even Just phone reception (hospitals suck). I’ve been busy packing today and have appointments tomorrow, so I’ll be pretty much just planning out the rest of the story (I keep getting new ideas, like, every damn day) so there is just no way that I’ll get this thing finished by then.  
I might be able to post another chapter tomorrow but I won’t make any promises.
> 
> So let me know if you want to have the backstory parts now (and have me later add the chapters through ‘chapter editing’) or if you rather wait and get the full chapters.


	9. "It's over." "Is it ever?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has a new job and everyone has a lot more problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that I'll get the next chapter done as well, because it's about time that Sherlock finally gets his voice back, right?   
That will be marking the middle of the story, so there is a lot more to come XDD
> 
> (I also added the video link to the last chapter, which I had completely forgotten. Whoopsie)

Backstory Part seven

“Sherlock, give it up. It’s not up to debate anymore. You NEED a break!” Greg yelled.

“You can’t sto~p meee!” Sherlock sing-taunted him. He had been hoarse for weeks; months even. And not even the air from the salt water ocean of Italy was helping him. Greg had kept trying to get him to take a break, take it easy at least. Without success.

“I can and I will. You’re going to do damage to your oh-so-amazing voice if you keep this up.” Greg argued back.

“Let me think about it. Hmmmm.... I think NooOooOoooOooot!” 

“SHERLOCK!”

Sherlock just laughed, until he suddenly burst into a rather violent coughing fit. 

Greg softened a little, rubbing the skinny lad on his back. “Easy. This is what I was talking about. You can’t do this, just for a while. It’s not forever.”

When he got the coughing fit finally under control he complained “you just don’t understand. It’s all I got.”

Greg pursed his lips. “You got me.”

Sherlock gave him a ‘is this supposed to impress me?’ glare. 

Greg just shrugged. “Just a few days. Drink your tea, rest your voice, and maybe in a week you’ll already be right as rain again.” 

“A WEEK?!”

“For gods sakes it isn’t forever! But you can’t keep going like this. Fuck Mycroft, you need a break.”

Sherlock shook his head. “I have a recording for the album in three days, another concert two days after that, and don’t forget the interview in two weeks. Just face it George, I can never catch a break.”

Greg sighed. “I know... and for the least time, it’s ‘Greg’.

Chapter nine: "It's over." "Is it ever?"

"Sherlock, I'm not gonna leave you. Job or not. Mycroft may be toying with the law but he can't do anything to make me leave you." Greg told the poor soul.

John didn't really want to bother them but he was going crazy about this: "who is going to be there for him backstage and all that?" It only occurred to him after he'd asked that, that maaaybe this was a bit not good, seeing how the lad is still not even making much of a noise.

Greg looked at him in surprise. "Wow John, I never would have pegged you to fancy-"

"Wait- no! That wasn't what I-"

"Well congrats to the new job. I'll let Mycroft know." Greg said, suddenly hurrying and not letting John have another word in this.

John didn't feel too stressed by this. Because, Sherlock was pretty much retired. The younger lad had calmed down a bit, thankfully, and just sat there like a bag of potatoes now.

Greg came back after a few moments, striding over to the TV and turning it on. "Mycroft says you get the job." He said over his shoulder and John just nodded, wondering what was going on.

Greg switched through a few channels until he found the one he was looking for, which was just starting on the local news, and went to sit down next to Sherlock again.

"You all love him, and have waited for so long, but he is finally back! William Scott has published a new single last night, and the YouTube video has hit the 5 million views mark right now. Everyone just love-love-loves it! Listen for yourself." The newsreader said, and the camera zoomed in to one of their green-screens that had a picture of Sherlock when he was recording this song, his hair a bit longer than what John remembered from the 'right now' video. 

They played the song, of course, and Sherlock buried his head in a pillow, Greg and John watching him sympathetically, Greg turning the TV on mute.

They only played maybe a minute but it felt like it had been three hours. 

"God damnit..." Greg cursed. "Sherlock, it's over." He told the younger next to him.

Sherlock lifted his head enough to give him an 'is it ever?' look. 

"Fuck..." John suddenly cursed. The others gave him questioning looks. "They said he was back. They'll expect him to get back to how it was before." 

Sherlock buried his face in the pillow again, and Greg muttered curse words as if they somehow landed in Mycroft's ears. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I at least want to get the next chapter done, but either way I'll post the last few backstory parts tonight.   
Beware, they might make you want to kill a certain doctor.


	10. I'm back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like the title says, I. Am. BACK!  
Which took much longer than I expected but oh well, life happened. A LOT happened, actually. But that's beside the point. 
> 
> Finally, after almost six months, here is the moment you have all been waiting for: Sherlock finally gets his voice back! 
> 
> Well sort of.

Backstory Part eight

Greg had had enough. Sherlock was clearly getting worse every day, and all Mycroft cared about was the new album. 

All that strain when he’d been up on those stages in 15 countries over the year were definitely wearing on the young lad. But Sherlock refused to admit it and Mycroft just seemed to ignore that there was anything wrong with his own brother. Well to be fair, Mycroft wasn’t with them. He was busy preventing wars and only watched bits of the live shows when he had a moment. So all he saw was Sherlock performing to a tee, never actually noticing that he had a three minute long coughing fit on stage he had had in Finland after he got too close to the smoke machine, or the fever he got on stage in Australia.

So when they finally got back to London, he had taken him to the A&E as soon as the bus halted there, on command from Greg.

“You worry too much..” came the weak defense from next to him. He had another coughing fit for his effort, bringing up brown-ish mucus from his abused lungs into his hand. 

Greg told him to keep it there, because the doctors might want to use it as a sample. Thank heaven there weren’t many people on the streets, being that it was barely 2 am, thanks to their traveling into the oddest hours.

The doctor took samples from his throat to get cultures done, but could already tell it was a bacterial infection that had spread dangerously far. “I’d really rather have you admitted, I think you’re about to get fluid into your lungs.”

Greg shook his head. “Listen, he’s William Scott, he can’t be in a public hospital. If the fans heard about it they would storm the place.”

The doctor frowned, no, actually had the nerve to Glare. “Well, if mister ‘William Scott’ keeps going like this, he will never sing again.”

Sherlock was so shocked by the way those words were said that he never heard Greg arguing that it was his career, his whole life that was on the line, and that they’d get him better without needing a hospital stay.

So they were given penicillin to fight off almost every bacteria possible.

But after the fourth dose (second evening) Greg had gotten a text from Sherlock, saying only “help me”. So he had gone down to his bedroom in seconds. 

“Sherlock, what is it?” He was shocked to find the lad wheezing something fierce. “Did you take your inhaler?” Sherlock nodded, slowly panicking. “Okay, try to stay calm, I’m calling the doctor. You’ll be okay.” He told him before rushing out of the room to grab his phone, which he’d left upstairs. 

When he came down he went back to Sherlock again. “Take another dose of the salbutamol while I call him.” At Sherlock’s nod and moving to action, Greg went to the living room window to get better reception. “Greg Lestrade. Yes I know the fucking time. Sh- William’s asthma is trying to kill him. What should I do?”

The doc ended up consulting one of his team, who told him that asthmatics can’t get penicillin because of exactly this reason. When the doc called back to tell him to immediately cancel the treatment, Sherlock was thankfully better and they didn’t have to get him hospitalized. 

Greg still had to go and get him new antibiotics - which were checked to be alright with his asthma and what meds he had to take. 12 days of antibiotics, three times a day. 

When the second week of antibiotics started, Greg had been called away to the Met, who were in desperate need of help, and even though Greg hadn’t worked for them in over four years, he just couldn’t resist a begging Donovan. 

So he was in for a surprise when he noticed that Sherlock was getting dangerously thin, very fast. 

“You gotta eat more. The meds are fucking you up pretty good.” Greg told him one day. Sherlock had shaken his head. 

“Why not?”

Sherlock shook his head again.

Greg sighed. “You know, sometimes I wish we had a way to talk, without you talking. Why don’t we have any pencils and paper in this flat?”

Sherlock shrugged. 

“Well find a way for you to talk, because this is getting boring.”

Two days later Greg had found Sherlock passed out on the floor when he got home. He had taken him up bridal style, taking him over to the sofa and feeling how scaringly little he seemed to weigh anymore. Sherlock had a ridiculously fast metabolism, and had a hard enough time keeping his weight when he ate nonstop. Now though, he was often just nauseous and refused to eat. 

When Sherlock had come to, he had taken his phone which had lain on the coffee table, and finally told Greg through a new app, that he couldn't keep anything. 

“How long has this been going on?” Greg asked him, feeling horrible for the lad and not asking him about why his phone could suddenly talk. (He wasn’t a big fan of technology.)

“Since the antibiotics. Gotten worse every day. Can’t even keep soup. Miss H has tried.” 

And so, Lestrade had gotten him probiotics. 

The antibiotics also made him feel cold almost all the time, so when Greg was doing the shopping and saw this dark blue scarf, he just had to get it.

“Still cold?” He asked when he came home. The bundle of blankets nodded. “Here, I brought you a little something.” 

Greg said and handed over a dark blue cotton and silk scarf.

Sherlock had taken to wearing it with pride, it made him feel safe and protected somehow.

After the twelve days of antibiotics were up, they had to go back to the doctor to see how he was fighting off the infections. 

“Well we’ll have to do an endoscopy to be sure about how the larynx is doing, but at least the pneumonia has gotten better. The bronchitis is persistent, however.”

And thus began half an hour of the doc checking every antibiotic and it’s workability with the antidepressants. He had some bad news after the failed search. “We have to get you off your meds for a while. We’ll lower the dosage every two weeks and-“

“What?! And he is supposed to just sit around with fucking bronchitis while he gets off from the meds? What if it gets worse again?!” Greg had exclaimed, and Sherlock didn’t look happy at all.

The doc sighed. “I can’t give him antibiotics with the medication he’s on. He could have heart attacks and complete nervous system shutdown. The risk is too high. But he needs stronger antibiotics to get the bacteria killed. We need six weeks but it’s better than stopping them cold turkey.” The doc had explained. “Until then, make sure he uses a steroid inhaler every morning and evening to help him breathe, have him drink tea - without honey, cause honey is sugar and sugar just feeds bacteria - and hot baths. He worked in this condition for months, he will survive a few more weeks.”

Neither Sherlock nor Greg liked what the doc had told them. After all, had been the one to give an asthmatic penicillin in the first place.

Chapter 10 - I'm back

"We have to get you your voice back, mate." Greg said in a gentle, yet matter-of-factly voice. But Sherlock still looked absolutely terrified. He shook his head, looking sad now.

"Well why the hell not?" Greg demanded. John frowned. Sherlock started typing on his phone.

"Because now people only hate me for what I DON'T say." It said. 

John seemed puzzled for a moment, but understood what he meant by that. Greg groaned next to him. "Sherlock, everybody who's important gets hate. You can't take it seriously." 

Greg had personally changed Sherlock's Twitter password so that the boy couldn't see the hateful things people said about him. Of course, that doesn't stop it from happening on other social media sites. "Do it for the fans who love you." He continued. 

Greg suddenly left them to grab something in a bookshelf. He came back with a CD [[https://www.deviantart.com/xxenayx/art/Hear-your-voice-Sherlock-fanfic-cover-810024110](https://www.deviantart.com/xxenayx/art/Hear-your-voice-Sherlock-fanfic-cover-810024110)] and gave it over to Sherlock.

Sherlock looked down on the cover, deep in thought. Greg spoke up again. "When someone tells you 'you're not good enough', you come back-" he was cut off by John. "And you come back and tell them 'I am good enough'." He was suddenly glad to have watched the videos on YouTube. Greg and Sherlock both smiled at him gratefully.

Sherlock handed Greg the CD back and typed on his phone.

“Fine, I’ll try.” Sherlock’s phone said. Greg and John watched him expectantly.

But nothing happened. 

After a good two minutes of silence, Sherlock picked his phone back up. “What do you want me to say?”

They both groaned mentally. ‘He could have asked that with words instead of letting that damn phone talk for him’, John mentally cursed. 

“Whatever you want to say. You could finally introduce yourself to John,” Greg joked, “I mean, you’ve met weeks ago and you still wouldn’t even said so much as a ‘hello’ or your name.” 

That got a smile out of the others. 

Sherlock nodded, mentally and physically preparing himself as if he wasn’t going to just say something, but like he was about to go bungee-jumping from a cliff. He bit his lip, glancing at John who gave him such an encouraging grin. 

But when after a good three minutes there was still no sound coming from the young lad, Lestrade’s patience had run out. “Oh come on! What, have you forgotten how to talk?”

John perked up. “That’s actually a possibility. How long did you say he had been mute now?” He asked Greg.

“Four to five months, give or take.” 

John nodded, then turned back to a worried looking Sherlock. “Your conscious mind has suppressed it so long that your mind appears to have forgotten how to do it. But, and here is the thing: we know for a fact, that your subconscious still knows it. The subconscious uses muscle memory, it’s like when we learned how to ride a bike and keep our balance - you can’t forget it. It's like a reflex. So all we have to do is get your subconscious mind to act until you can consciously talk. And sing.” John explained with a grin.

Greg frowned at him in thought. John seemed to know an awful lot about this whole thing. Then he suddenly had an idea. “Singing! That’s it!” He exclaimed, and Sherlock didn’t look happy in the slightest about what he implied.

"Give me your phone for a sec." He said to Sherlock and held out his hand. 

Sherlock seemed very apprehensive, looking at John for help, but he only nodded at him encouragingly, so he gave in.

Greg knew more about modern technology than John did, so he closed the Text to Speech app and opened Safari, got on YouTube and typed in 'Sia'. 

"What was that song called again.." he muttered to himself. Luckily for him, the search bar gave him quite a few song titles. "Ah I don't think it matters." 

Sia and Evanescence were artists who, Greg knew, Sherlock absolutely couldn't resist. Well, that and his own songs, obviously. 

The first beats of "Unstoppable" played from the iPhone speakers and Sherlock got a look of utter horror on his face - much to the others' amusement. 

He still started to sing, voice timid and small, insecure and at times off-beat,but he tried.

([https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SIcmvfYZexo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SIcmvfYZexo)so at first I had a different video, buuut for some reason I can't find it anymore, but I found a 'substitute' lol. If you can leave him some positive feedback on his video, I think he would greatly appreciate it <3 I just wanna spread positivity, okay? XD and he's absolutely amazing) 

John and Greg were both filled with such relief. Which started to crack whenever Sherlock lost his voice for a second. Greg didn't seem pleased at all. 

After another time where his voice gave out near the end, he completely stopped singing and just looked... sad.

John jumped into action and put a hand on the younger's shoulder. "That's normal. Remember, you haven't used your voice in Months, it's going to take some time. You'll be fine, okay? You're just going to need some speech therapy. We can work on this." He reassured him.

Greg suddenly stepped between them and ruined the moment. "What do you even know about this stuff? They said he could need surgery, depending on how bad the scarring has changed his ability!" He stared John down. "Look at you, going all doctor on us all of a sudden." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John is in trooouuubleeee~

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you think this whole thing is so bonkers it's too ridiculous to read, or if you want more. (Cause there is no in-between XDD)


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